The Italian
Annoyed with myself, I snatch my hand away and open my menu. Unexpectedly, he does the same.
“What would you like to eat, bella?”
You. I would like to eat you. “What would you suggest?” I ask casually as I pretend to read through the choices. I can’t see a thing. I have double vision from the smell of his aftershave. Why does he smell so good?
He raises his brow at me. “You like meat?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes.”
His eyes drop to my lips, and I feel my insides clench.
Okay…what the actual hell is going on here? This guy is insanely sexual.
“When was your last meal?”
I look up into his stare…what are we talking about here? Food? Sex? It’s been twelve hours since food and twelve months since sex.
I’m basically fucking starving in all areas. “Too long.”
Arousal flares in his eyes, and I know in that very second that we are talking about sex.
He sits back and steeples his hands under his chin again. “You’re beautiful. Where are you from?”
“Australia.”
“Where is your man?”
I frown. “I haven’t met him yet.”
Our eyes lock as tension bounces between us. I’ve never encountered a sexual attraction to someone like this before. You read about it, but it’s never actually happened to me.
I break the silence. “Where is your… other half?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Oh.” I pretend to read the menu once more.
“What are you doing in Rome?” he asks.
“I’m on vacation.”
“Alone?”
“No. My girlfriends are back at the hotel,” I lie. Rule 101: never tell anyone you are travelling alone. See, Mom, I do remember some rules.
“Why are you here alone… in this bar?”
“You’re very nosey.” He frowns as if not understanding the term. “Inquisitive,” I add.
“I don’t understand.”
“You want to know everything.”
He breaks out into a broad beautiful smile. “I do.” He reaches over and picks up a piece of my shoulder length, honey-blonde hair. “So fair,” he says. “Is your hair fair like this everywhere?”
I swallow the lump in my throat as my heart has an epileptic fit.
He smiles as if fascinated and takes my face in his hands. “Blue eyes.”